Pantyhose & Douche

There was this girl Judy. She had been my best friend Terry's first girlfriend--his first piece of ass. We met her when she was only 13, and she liked both of us, but me more than him. I liked her, too, but as I got around with the girls pretty well and he needed a girlfriend much more than me, I got out of the picture until they were a solid item.

They dated all through junior high and high school. It took him forever to get into her pants, but he eventually did, sometime after they turned 18. After that, almost every day, they'd come from school to his house across the street from me, close the curtains, and have sex for the next two hours.

I knew her very, very well, as Terry and I were best friends, she was his steady girlfriend, and we all hung out together all the time. They finally broke up after being together practically 6 years, and then he dated BJ for 3 or so years after her, broke up, and had most recently been dating Sandy steady.

I was home Spring Break from my senior year in college and saw Judy on the front porch of a nearby house. I ran over to see her, and she said her mom had moved into that house. Though I had not seen Judy in years, it was just like old times. The friendship--and sexual tension that had been there from day one--was still there in full force.

Even though my buddy had been broken up with her for a long time, Judy was his first lover, and I was reticent to ask her out until I talked with him. He had no problem with it at all and encouraged me to go for it.

"She is a terrific suck and fuck," he said. "Hell, I taught her everything she knows!"

In truth, since they were both virgins then, Judy probably taught him as much as he taught her.

Well, I was all revved up and asked her out. The date went splendidly, and she asked me up to her apartment in her high-rise building when the night was still young. We're making out madly in the elevator on the way up, and it sure looked like an evening of passion was in store. After all, we'd known each other for nearly a decade and had had the hots for one another since day one.

Well, we're making out on her couch, groping and fondling each other through our clothes when I went to probe her crotch beneath the short dress she had on.

Pantyhose. Extremely tight-fitting pantyhose. She was not resisting, but neither was she getting in a position for me to peel them off. I struggled to rub her pussy through them, but they were, like, bulletproof, not to mention finger-proof. I tried to wriggle my hand down the front, but the waist was too high and tight. Those stockings were the pantyhose equivalent of Fort Knox--impenetrable.

I'd removed the rest of her clothes and was enjoying fondling and sucking her beautiful B cup boobs, but my attempts to break into this pussy safe were unsuccessful even after at least 20 minutes of trying. She seemed to be enjoying everything, as her panties were wet with pussy juice, but the pantyhose blocked my progress as effectively as a locked steel corset.

Finally, I said, "Judy, would you stand up so I can take these pantyhose off?"

To which she replied, ever so kindly, "But that would lead to fucking, and I don't fuck on the first date."

OK, so we've known each other all these years, have had the hots for each other all this time, and she does not allow herself to fuck on our first, technically speaking, date? Now there's a girl who sticks to her rules!

We made a date for the very next evening, and we sucked and fucked like dogs in heat the whole night--never even going out. And she did not wear pantyhose that night. I think she intentionally wore the pantyhose on our first date as a way of ensuring that we would not fuck. Terry was right on: she was a terrific lover.

But that was not the most peculiar thing about Judy. You see, she had a hang-up about her pussy, a serious case of Clean Vagina Syndrome. Now I, like most men, don't care for a dirty, smelly gash, but I do like the ordinary scent and feel of a pussy. However, Judy felt hers was dirty if there was any detectable natural odor whatsoever, and would not allow me to go make love or down on her until she had douched. Put together the fact that I loved to eat out her gorgeous pussy often and her cleanliness hang-up, and let's just say she went through so much douche that she should have bought stock in the company.

No matter how recently she had showered, she always had to douche before sex. I mean, she would be fresh, we'd have dinner and see a movie, go back to her place, get naked, and off she'd trot to the bathroom for a douche. I tried to convince her that I preferred the natural scent and that frequent douching was actually bad for vaginal health, but, no, she had to douche.

And it was not as if her hang-up was part of an anal-retentive profile, either. She was generally clean and hygienic, but not excessively so, and she loved to swallow cum or have me spew my load anywhere on her superb, lean body. Nor did she have to douche out my sperm if I came in her pussy; she was just fine with leaving it in her all night until she showered the next morning.

You know that expression "squeaky clean?" I swear there were times when I was making love to her that I actually thought I heard a faint "squeak" as I pounded her tight little blonde-haired pussy, but it was probably just the bed.

Judy was an excellent girlfriend, and we dated for about six months. She was one of those people who just knew how to be a super partner, and she had the ability to get along great with everyone. For my last quarter of college, every few weeks, either she'd drive to spend the weekend with me, or I'd drive to the other end of the state to my hometown where she lived.

Her apartment was extremely close to my parent's house, and it was particularly exciting sneaking around making sure we avoided my family, so we always hid my one-of-a kind convertible in the middle of her fenced parking lot and took her old jalopy. Not that I didn't love my family, but they'd expect me to stay at home and spend time with them if they knew I was in town, and there simply was not enough time in a weekend to drive the 800-mile round trip and do both the family thing and the Judy thing.

One Saturday, we had just pulled out of her lot when I spotted my dad across the intersection approaching in his car. We knew he'd recognize her car, and I immediately dived to the floorboard. It was a beautiful spring morning, and her windows were down, and, as expected, Dad stopped to chat. He rolled his driver-side window down and pulled up right next to Judy, their faces not five feet apart. I barely managed to stay out of sight by wriggling over to the floorboard on her side, beneath the steering wheel.

He'd found a good deal on tires she was in dire need of and was telling her where and how much and so on. He said he'd just phoned, but got no answer and decided to drive on over. Thank God he'd run into her here on the street, for he would have surely seen my car had he come into her parking lot, maybe even seen me walking across it.

Dad's talkativeness was exceeded only by his helpfulness, and he was saying she should go ahead and get the tires that day, that he'd meet her there and make sure they didn't try to charge her for a front-end alignment she didn't need and that the tires were mounted and balanced right. Judy was trying her best to courteously defer to another time, saying she had plans and thanking him over and over.

In fact, she did have plans, but since they were with me—officially 400 miles away—she could not be truthful about the sort of "mounting" on her agenda. We were en route with victuals and wine to picnic in the most secluded part we could find of a big state park—your basic eat, get drunk, and screw plans. That's why she was wearing a loose cotton sundress with no bra or panties.

As Dad's saying the tires wouldn't take even an hour and now would be the best time to go before they got busy, I'm gazing between Judy's slim thighs at her pretty pussy. I badly wanted a taste and thought it would be funny to further complicate her dilemma with a bit of the old lick and suck, but the steering wheel was in the way.

Anyway, I did the next best/worst thing and poked my index finger in her pussy. She gasped, slammed her thighs together, and her eyes got as big as saucers. Dad asked her if she was OK. Judy was speechless and looked down her nose at me.

I wriggled my finger, smiled, and whispered, "Tires next Saturday morning. Will call you for details. Got to go now. Thanks so much Mr. (my dad). Bye."

And she managed to parrot my words before going through the light, which was almost as red as her face.

Judy was pretty mad at me but got over it quickly, as I had not broken the cardinal rule. You see, she had just douched.

She was a good girl and sure knew how to be a super girlfriend, and it was great having an immediate girlfriend when I returned to my hometown that summer after graduating college. However, we were in different life phases. She was ready to get married to a provider, and I was planning on further education.

She certainly did not know how to break up, though. She just stopped answering my calls or returning my calls. My birthday came and went. Total incommunicado. I finally ambushed her when she came to visit her mom. When pressed, she said she had a new boyfriend. They got married and had several kids.

Rumor was that he worked for Massengill—the douche company—but I cannot confirm that.